Gamzee's Tale
by Beagirl1227
Summary: A short oneshot involving Gamzee  Karkat, Gamzee 3 Tavros, and a stripclub.    Okay so I really just want to apologize in advance for this.   Really this is an abomination.   Don't read it.     I don't know why Tavros is poledancing I really don't.   /sob


"You fucking did _what_? You idiotic bulgesucker, are you kidding me?" Gamzee had to admit, Karkat was being less supportive than he would have liked. Or maybe his moirail's grating personality was just being amplified by the gratuitous quantity of sopor pies he had eaten that morning; hard to be sure. Still, he figured he at least owed his punchline-blooded brother an explanation. Popping his sopor-coated fingers from between his lips, he continued his story, his glazed eyes watching as Karkat's forehead grew wrinkled with disbelief.

"I went to this motherfucking club last night, bro. Vriska all up and laid all the info about it on me and I had just had this motherfuckin' miracle of a pie, so it seemed like an alright sorta thing for me to all up an' indulge in, you know?" A shrug and Gamzee was digging his fingers back into the warm goo of his pie. A vein by Karkat's left eye twitched a little.

"Jegus, are you seriously that incredibly _dense_ that you would do whatever the fuck Vriska told you to? If she had told you to go and have a fucking staring contest with our blazing fiery asshole of a sun, would you do it?" The lanky troll scratched at his cheek, smearing slime over his grey skin, watching the vein twitch for a moment before remembering to answer.

"Aw man, I'm not so motherfuckin' sure. Sun's awful fuckin' bright to be all up an' starin' at it all the time." The lanky indigo-blood paused for a moment, fingers buried deep in green sopor slime, before shrugging at his raging compadre. "Though, I'm not so sure that I wouldn't fuckin' do it if she told me to; you got to show some faith in your friends, hear what I'm sayin' bro?"

"What I'm hearing is that you're a fucking moron, Gamzee."

"Aww, that's kinda harsh of you bro."

"Big fucking deal." Karkat shifted, scrunched into a corner of his moirail's squishy relaxation perch and pointedly avoiding contact with the sopor stains that coated its surface. Why he wouldn't call it a "couch" like any normal motherfucker was a mystery to Gamzee, though he vaguely remembered him saying it had to do with some rule or other about blood color. "Anyway, what the everloving fuck were you doing at this grubmunching club you're flapping your gums about?"

"Oh, yeah, I almost up and motherfuckin' forgot." A slow, easy grin spread over the troll teen's face, his pie forgotten on his lap as he began his tale.

* * *

><p>Gamzee was more than a little dazed as he walked up to the vacant hive; Vriska had told him earlier that it had been renovated after its owner had been culled, and that the shows they put on there were worth his while. Not that he remembered the conversation in its entirety of course, what with the slime turning his thoughts into hazy butterflies all up and flappin' around his nearly-empty thinkpan. Luckily, Vriska had had the wherewithal to scrawl the address of the converted hive on the back of his hand with some of the blue fluid from her 8-balls; the stuff shimmered on his skin when it was dry, so it caught his attention relatively easily enough, and with enough regularity that, if he ever lost his train of thought (which was a given, considering the troll in question) it would remind him where the motherfuck he was all up and runnin' off to.<p>

Now that he had arrived there, though, he was having just as difficult a time remembering what exactly was supposed to be goin' down inside. He had a vague recollection in the back of his thinkpan that it was supposed to be somethin' like the best motherfuckin' miracle he ever did part of, (though he couldn't remember if those were his terms, or Vriska's,) so with little trepidation and his typical lazy grin, he managed to make his way inside.

The flashing multicolored lights distracted him for a moment there; the colors were reminiscent of his sylladex, and he had to resist the strong urge to yank up one of the overstuffed pillows scattered around just to watch the colors flash around once more. He hadn't had much of a chance to use the miracle-dex any more now that the game was over and the item-collecting was through, but he still liked to break out the old thing often enough as a way of entertaining himself. Just as he was leaning over to touch his spindly fingers to the soft cushions, a much different sort of entertainment caught his attention in a much different sort of way.

Tavros, decked out in little more than some leather pants and matching racing gloves, wheeled himself out onto the stage that Gamzee just noticed was occupying much of the interior of the hive. His would-be matesprit looked like he was going to vomit, and Gamzee genuinely felt some raging redrom pity for the brown-blood; he knew how harsh it was on Tav's mellow to be all up an' in front of people like that. Why he was on the stage in the first place Gamzee couldn't even guess, but it seemed that there were a number of other trolls getting' their chill on in the hive, murmuring to each other and watching as Tavbro slowly wheeled his leathered self around in front of them. Considering that Gamzee couldn't tear his eyes away from that steadily browning blush even if he tried, he stumbled his way over to a low-set couch near the back wall of the hive, sopor-stained fingers flung wide over the cushy array of pillows as he swung his lanky self down to get his chill on too.

It was a motherfucking miracle of timing; right as Gamzee's sopored ass scooted itself into a comfy position on the couch, the house lights dimmed around him, colors fading (to the indigo-blood's disappointment). For the split second that he was distracted from Tavbro's fine self, his Taurian brother _stood up_ (man it motherfuckin' freaked Gamzee all up and out when his bro did that; he still forgot on occasion that Equius and his bad fuckin' self had hooked Tav up with a sweet set of metal gams to all up an' be walkin' on.) and walked himself over to a glistening pole standing right in the middle of the stage.

Now that shit all up and confused that highblooded motherfucker somethin' good; what use was a fine-ass pole like that doin' up there—and just what was Tavbro supposed to be doin' with it?

Of course, all these queries flew out the motherfucking window once Tavros strut across the stage and hiked his thigh up against the cool metal. The lowblooded troll glanced just once over his shoulder at the crowd—and then pulled himself up, muscles straining as he ascended. Gamzee could almost feel his jaw just drop right down off of his Subjugglating face. He had known that Tavbro was a motherfuckin' strong bro, for a troll so timid, but this was all up and on a whole new motherfuckin' level. Then again, what the motherfuck did he know about how strong Tavbro was? He had only met the bro in person like what, _twice?_ And even that had been years ago—back when the game was still all fuckin' with their thinkpans and shit. Regardless, Tavros had certainly kept his upper body in shape since then, what with wheeling himself around his hive all the time. Although the metal legs were a huge time-saver when it came to getting in and out of his recuperacoon, they were physically exhausting to use, and took a lot of fuel to run besides. Thanks to them, his arms, pecs, abs—all were in perfect working condition for slinging his tall, healthily-muscled body around the pole.

Gamzee, at this point, was trying to force himself to stay focused through the haze of sopor slime and the pulsing rush of the music. Each throbbing beat of the bass sent rippling shockwaves through his fingertips, each hushed drone from the crowd thrummed through his thinkpan and flushed his thoughts away like genetic material into a filial pail. Aww shit, wait, he shouldn't be thinking about filial pails, or flushed quadrants, or how much of a motherfuckin' miracle this whole convoluted experience was. How was it he had gotten himself on this couch again? Why the fuck were the lights goin' all apeshit on his eyes? The questions flickered through his consciousness without leaving any memorable impression; the only things he could really register were the undulations of light across Tavros's belly as his bonebulge strained through the leather pants to grind against his pole.

It was motherfuckin' amazing how focused his brown-blooded bro was once his body was moving; Tavros seemed to have no spare time to think about the flashing lights or staring eyes of the crowd. As soon as his legs swung up, gripping the pole tight against his thighs, the lowblood was all business. Gamzee watched the brown blush even itself out into grey, still glistening with sweat, and felt a dull throb in his belly; almost nervous, almost painful. He pressed his hand to his stomach absentmindedly as though to stifle it, though his attention was still focused on his bro as Tav motherfuckin' _flipped upside-down_, his legs holding him aloft as he arched his back in what could only be ecstasy. The lazily hooded eyes followed every move of those huge orange horns, every twitch of the tightened muscles of Tav's belly, with careful anticipation. His fingers gripped tighter at the pillows, sopor smearing over the cushion and staining it, the green fluid nearly glowing in the dim lights. Distracted by the neon glow, he glanced down at his hands—and saw what could only be a motherfuckin' _pail_, just sittin' there mindin' it's own motherfuckin' business by his feet.

The highblood felt the strange pulse in his stomach quicken, burning deep and low, and shamelessly reached for the bucket, dragging it closer. With every flex of that tempting lowblood's back the image of the pail burned deeper into his lazy yellow eyes. Dips, thrusts, spins, each motion called carnal to Gamzee as he reclined, tense, against the low couches. The poor motherfucker didn't know how much more of this miracle he could stand before reaching for that dirty fuckin' pail at his feet. Something in his thinkpan stopped him, however; wasting genetic material—especially that of a precious, sacred Subjugglator—was illegal, worthy of an immediate culling. He was about to kick the bucket away but—mother_fuck_—Tavros _moaned_ up on the stage and Gamzee couldn't control his own fuckin' self anymore. His sopored tongue unlocked his jaw on its own and a low, needy, terrible moan rumbled from his throat; his belly twitched with the force of it, and without thinking the highblood reached down to his pants.

His bonebulge already rock-solid, Gamzee set into a steady stroking motion, his head lolling to the side as he narrowed his eyes at the troll on the stage. A thrust of Tavros's hips and his own bucked in response, a harsh breath as Tav climbed atop the pole and Gamzee felt himself twitch in his palm. Just glancing at those massive horns made him want to praise the motherfuckin' Mirthful Messiahs. He could almost see it; him, striding up onto the stage beside the lowblood, running his hands down his back, over his ass, between his thighs, raking his teeth over the soft flesh and spilling delicious copper blood onto his motherfuckin' tongue. Gamzee's eyes crushed shut with the thought, pulse racing as he saw himself taking his would-be matesprit from behind, the whole crowd watching as their flesh clapped together, his bonebulge thrust deep inside the lowblood. There would be sweat—he could smell the tang of it on Tavros's skin, feel the slickness of his thighs as his fingers ravaged the taut flesh. Their blood would pulse in unison, their genetic material spilling onto the floor in their ecstasy. He would ride that motherfucker until the sun was all peekin' through the motherfuckin' curtains and it still wouldn't be enough. Pure _want_ coursed through his fuckin' veins, the heat making his temples pulse and locking his jaw tight. His hands throbbed harder against his bonebulge, and his foot—in his frenzied lust—twitched, clanging against the pail at his feet.

"Mother_fuck_, Tavbro," the indigoblood grunted under his breath, lip twitching against his canines as he fought against the rush in his bulge. Gamzee struggled through the green haze of sopor and the red haze of need to glance back up at the sexy motherfucker onstage. Tavros was ascending for what looked like the final time, his face and shoulders flushed brown with the effort of hoisting himself up again. His lips were parted around his dulled teeth, the leather binding his thighs tight and flush with his skin. Gamzee could see they way Tav's bulge was near to bursting, and for a split moment wondered if the lowblood actually _got off_ on being watched—before he remembered his own throbbing bulge and stroked harder, slipping down off the couch and breathing heavily over the pail. He forced himself to look up again though if only for Tavros's finale, the fuckin' end to whatever the motherfuck it was he was watching. _Tavbro—_the name was on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it, aching for the end, to let loose all the miraculous colors of the Subjugglators into that motherfuckin' pail.

Finally Tavros stopped his sensuous climbing, looked out into the crowd one last time—and shot a beaming smile as he clung, breathless, to the pole.

"T-thank you all for, uh, coming to see me," His voice was stronger than Gamzee remembered; the sweeps had done him good, and the deep, ringing vibrato of his voice went straight to the highblood's aching, thrusting hips. The stammer—that adorabull motherfucking stammer—was still there though, and it was that familiar tone that nearly bust Gamzee's bulge into the bucket. "Now…let's finish this."

The highblood almost froze, eyes widening as he watched Tavros turn his attention back to his pole. The lowblood gripped the thick metal with his legs, just below his bulge, dipping backwards with arms outstretched and reaching out to arc over the open air. The muscled, slick body spun so slowly that it almost hurt Gamzee to watch. The Taurian troll eventually reached below him to latch on with his hands once more, slowly loosening his grip with his legs until they were spread-eagled above him, his bulge still pressed firmly against the metal. Tavros twisted and spun, his speed gradually increasing, the gyrations of his torso more sensual with each thrust and pull against the pole. Gamzee watched, mesmerized, not realizing that his hand was following the rhythm of Tavros's undulating torso, his fingers pulsing hard and fast on his bulge. Shlckshlckshlck, the beat of the music pulsed faster against Gamzee's temples. His free hand clutched desperately at the rim of the pail, hips frantic as they matched Tavros's pace. Finally, as Tavros performed his last spin—his back arching out and away, the sweetest of moans parting his lips—Gamzee's voice rang out with his. The indigoblood let himself spill, a deep, throaty groan bursting from his chest as he filled the pail with violet.

As his hips bucked out the last of his dying lust, Gamzee risked looking up again at the stage. Head clearing, he focused his vision—only to find Tavros's eyes locked on his. The highblood was surprised to say the least, but his shame had been stolen by the sopor. All he could up and offer to his lowblooded friend was a tired, satisfied grin. Tavros's face—once serene and focused while dancing on the pole—bloomed a dusky orange, a motherfuckin' miracle to the eyes. The highblood couldn't help but fuckin' laugh, a strange sense of relief tingeing his thoughts with lights. As Tavros turned away to return to the relative calm of his four-wheel device, Gamzee thought he may have seen a small smirk glance over the other troll's normally-gentle features.

* * *

><p>"I honestly can't tell which part is fucking worse, Gamzee." Karkat's face was flushed so brightly pink that Gamzee had to wonder at the fact that the motherfucker's head didn't all up and explode all over the place. "The fact that you <em>assaulted my auricular sponge clots<em> with the word "pail" and "bucket" multiple excruciatingly god awful times, that you described to me the image of your flush-crush's undulating body in _minute _detail, or that you actually had the indecency to whack off your fucking _bone bulge_ in the middle of a fucking _strip club_!"

Gamzee pondered this for a moment—half-forgetting what they were talking about for a second there—before a chuckle bubbled from his lips and he clapped a spindly hand on his moirail's back.

"Haha, motherfucker, it wasn't a fuckin' strip club, nobody didn't even all up and strip or nothin' bro."

"Goddamnit Gamzee if your fucking matesprit was grinding his ass on a pole then he was doing it at a fucking club, insignificant and circumstantial details aside."

"Aw, Tavbro ain't my matesprit either, bro." The indigoblood grinned at Karkat, swirling a lanky finger in his pie. "Well I mean, he ain't _yet_; are you all payin' me some fuckin' attention, Kar?"

"You know what, just forget it, fucking forget it! I don't even know why I start getting myself involved in these useless discussions with you anyway; you'll just forget it all within twenty minutes thanks to those disgusting pies of yours."

"Oh shit!" Gamzee jumped up, his lanky figure stumbling some around horns and discarded bloodstained juggling pins. "I all up an' motherfuckin' forgot about the rest of my pies! You want one, motherfucker?"

"God forbid I let one drop of that sludge touch my taste organ; at least _one_ of us has to maintain proper moirail etiquette."

"Ahh, whatever motherfucker, just means I get more pies all to my motherfuckin' self."

As Gamzee pulled the lukewarm pies from his broken oven, he couldn't help but smile to himself. No matter what Karkat said about sopor rotting his thinkpan and distorting his memories, he knew that he would never motherfuckin' forget that night at the club or that sight of Tav's hot motherfuckin' miracle of a body, twistin' and turnin' just for his good ol' eyes to be lookin' at. Now if he could just find a way back…


End file.
